Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps
by AntimonySR71
Summary: Very short ONESHOT! Sirius' thoughts one evening during the course of the events of OotP


The fire crackled and seemed to be having a merry time. The pair of eyes that were looking at it on the other hand, seemed to not be so. In fact they held a look that was the complete opposite of what the dancing flames seemed to give off.

The owner of the pair of eyes was in a melancholy mood. That explained the glass of Firewhiskey in his hand. That was explained in part by the environment he found himself in.

It was one which he had hated for a long long time. Ever since his school years. But one that had become his refuge, no, scratch that, had become his prison now.

Sirius Black sighed as he continued to look at the flames. There was no clock around, and having not cast the Tempus charm, there was no way for anyone to know what the exact time was.

Sirius though, didn't care about what the exact time was. He knew it was the wee hours of the morning, of the time that he had once heard Lily saying as being the origin of the quote, "The night is darkest just before dawn". What he wasn't sure of was whether or not that applied to the situation with Voldemort.

That detour of his thoughts though was cut short when he took his next sip of the hard liquor.

As the warm liquid burned his way down his throat, his mind returned back to what it had originally been thinking of.

Regulus.

His brother.

Sirius had realized that he had never really grieved for his brother. They were not close, Sirius' decision to leave Grimmauld Place and turn his back on the Blacks having only served to widen that chasm.

But still he was his brother, and what he had learned from both the Blacks and the Potters (surprisingly there was an area where they actually agreed), was that family was important. While one was obsessed with blood, the other wasn't but both were deeply devoted to their families.

And yet he had forsaken his brother. True, he hadn't _actually_ forsaken him, but to Sirius, it did seem that way right now.

He could have done more for his brother while at Hogwarts. But no, he had let his prejudices against the Slytherins and a previously formed unfavorable opinion of his brother had dropped a curtain that clouded his thoughts.

Perhaps, he could have tried to get to know him better.

Perhaps, he could have tried to dissuade him from joining Voldemort.

Perhaps, he could have even saved him.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

A part of him wanted to rant and rage at his incompetence and his follies in his youth. But the remaining part, the one that managed to keep him sane through the hardships at Azkaban, shut down the idea.

True, it would have helped him to vent for a bit. But beyond that it would have achieved nothing. It was not like he could bring Regulus back.

He had tried to piece together the events that lead to Regulus' death. But between the reign of terror that Voldemort was inflicting on Britain the first time round and his subsequent incarceration after, he had found nothing substantial. Bits and pieces yet, but they remained just that. Not enough to give a detailed story.

He could only hope that Regulus had been serious about exiting Voldemort's service and it was on moral grounds and not because he just felt like he wasn't cut out for it.

Sirius knew that he could ask Kreacher and ask him if he had any details on Regulus. After all the house elf was devoted to Regulus.

But he simply couldn't stand the elf. His constant muttering and cursing and swearing had made sure that Sirius could not hold his temper in check in any conversation with the elf.

Getting up from his couch after finishing the last of the Firewhiskey in his glass, Sirius headed back to his bedroom. Hopefully he would be able to fall asleep.

He hated these times when he and Kreacher were the only ones in the house. It truly felt like a prison then, with no one to talk to, and no way to change his mood. He shook his head and continued climbing the set of stairs, the alcohol not really affecting his movements save for a slightly reduced pace.

He walked into his old room, and fell onto the bed. Just before sleep claimed him, he thought that it was perhaps, worth a talk with Kreacher to find out what happened.

Perhaps he should have done this earlier.

Perhaps then, Kreacher would not have betrayed his Master on the day the talk was to take place.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.


End file.
